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Authors: Jerome Charyn
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tables. You couldnât mistake the king. It was Dermott and six retired New York cops. The calm on Whoresâ Row began to make sense for Isaac. Dermott had his own rabbis in the Department. He couldnât have kept the nigger gangs from warring with each other over all that revenue unless Dermott had some fat cop in his sleeve.
His vassals ate like pigs around him. Dermott had coffee and white toast. He was a dark and handsome man. He couldnât have been over thirty-five. He had a stronger chin than Isaac. And no bald spot. His hair was black as Moses. It had a lovely sheen in the Saddle Room. But it wasnât marks of physical beauty that bit at Isaac. Dermott was a thinking man. You could see the grooves and gutters in his brow. His eyes had more clarity than those six vassals who ate with him. That was Dermottâs power to attract. And he didnât have a worm to give him sunken cheeks.
The First Dep could feel some pressure on his arm.
âMoses, can I have that sausage if youâre not going to finish it?â
âAbsolutely,â Isaac said. âAnd Iâm not Moses anymore. Half of Dublin knows Iâm here.â
Dermott got up from the table. His vassals had to leave their kippers because of him. He nodded once to Marshall and his wife, but he had nothing for his old sponsor, Isaac Sidel. The First Dep was grateful that the Berkowitzes were going on a trip to the outskirts of Dublin for the morning at least. Howth Castle and Sandycove. Isaac begged to God that Marsh and his wife would lose themselves somewhere. The First Dep needed time to stalk, to fix Dermottâs hours in his head, find a schedule, so that he would know when to leap, and he couldnât do anything with Sylvia pulling on his pants.
But he had a hard time looking for weak spots in Dermott. The king kept to his rooms. The vassals had a porter bring up his lunch. About four in the afternoon he went down to eat his tea. The kingâs party occupied a little nest of chairs in a corner of the lounge that was furthest from the windows. Was someone other than Isaac after the king? At five he went out for a walk in St. Stephenâs Green. It wasnât much of a stroll. He kept to the gazebo on the near side of the pond. He was back at the hotel by five-fifteen. At eight he went out again. It was to a little Chinese restaurant on Merrion Row, the Red Ruby, a block and a half from his hotel. He was up in his wing at the Shelbourne before nine. An Irish Cinderella. Did his vassals tuck him in?
Isaac had his first bit of luck. The Berkowitzes were stranded in Sandycove. He could follow Dermott unmolested for a second day. The kingâs schedule didnât vary very much. Breakfast at the Saddle Room. Lunch upstairs. Tea. A stroll near the pond. Dinner at the Red Ruby. And good night.
How could Isaac get to him, and where? He couldnât make it out of Dublin in less than a week. The Berkowitzes came back. Sylvia would have drifted into Isaacâs room without her underpants if the First Dep hadnât taken to the streets on that third day. The girls werenât pretty. They had freckles everywhere and their waists werenât high enough to please him. He was crazy about long-legged girls. The men seemed to have a dumb look around their eyes and a grimness in their cheeks. A nation of halfwits. Isaac wasnât fair. He had mingled with too many American Irish. He couldnât get along with them. His marriage to Kathleen had been twenty years of strife. The Irish were crazy, in Dublin and New York.
He rumbled back to the Shelbourne and sat in the lounge, where he saw an Irish beauty. She must have been a blueblooded wench. She didnât have much of a brogue. Was she one of the Anglo-Irish who had ruled Dublin for centuries? She was with a perfectly tailored man about Isaacâs age. They drank white coffee and muttered things that escaped the First Dep. They could talk without moving their
His vassals ate like pigs around him. Dermott had coffee and white toast. He was a dark and handsome man. He couldnât have been over thirty-five. He had a stronger chin than Isaac. And no bald spot. His hair was black as Moses. It had a lovely sheen in the Saddle Room. But it wasnât marks of physical beauty that bit at Isaac. Dermott was a thinking man. You could see the grooves and gutters in his brow. His eyes had more clarity than those six vassals who ate with him. That was Dermottâs power to attract. And he didnât have a worm to give him sunken cheeks.
The First Dep could feel some pressure on his arm.
âMoses, can I have that sausage if youâre not going to finish it?â
âAbsolutely,â Isaac said. âAnd Iâm not Moses anymore. Half of Dublin knows Iâm here.â
Dermott got up from the table. His vassals had to leave their kippers because of him. He nodded once to Marshall and his wife, but he had nothing for his old sponsor, Isaac Sidel. The First Dep was grateful that the Berkowitzes were going on a trip to the outskirts of Dublin for the morning at least. Howth Castle and Sandycove. Isaac begged to God that Marsh and his wife would lose themselves somewhere. The First Dep needed time to stalk, to fix Dermottâs hours in his head, find a schedule, so that he would know when to leap, and he couldnât do anything with Sylvia pulling on his pants.
But he had a hard time looking for weak spots in Dermott. The king kept to his rooms. The vassals had a porter bring up his lunch. About four in the afternoon he went down to eat his tea. The kingâs party occupied a little nest of chairs in a corner of the lounge that was furthest from the windows. Was someone other than Isaac after the king? At five he went out for a walk in St. Stephenâs Green. It wasnât much of a stroll. He kept to the gazebo on the near side of the pond. He was back at the hotel by five-fifteen. At eight he went out again. It was to a little Chinese restaurant on Merrion Row, the Red Ruby, a block and a half from his hotel. He was up in his wing at the Shelbourne before nine. An Irish Cinderella. Did his vassals tuck him in?
Isaac had his first bit of luck. The Berkowitzes were stranded in Sandycove. He could follow Dermott unmolested for a second day. The kingâs schedule didnât vary very much. Breakfast at the Saddle Room. Lunch upstairs. Tea. A stroll near the pond. Dinner at the Red Ruby. And good night.
How could Isaac get to him, and where? He couldnât make it out of Dublin in less than a week. The Berkowitzes came back. Sylvia would have drifted into Isaacâs room without her underpants if the First Dep hadnât taken to the streets on that third day. The girls werenât pretty. They had freckles everywhere and their waists werenât high enough to please him. He was crazy about long-legged girls. The men seemed to have a dumb look around their eyes and a grimness in their cheeks. A nation of halfwits. Isaac wasnât fair. He had mingled with too many American Irish. He couldnât get along with them. His marriage to Kathleen had been twenty years of strife. The Irish were crazy, in Dublin and New York.
He rumbled back to the Shelbourne and sat in the lounge, where he saw an Irish beauty. She must have been a blueblooded wench. She didnât have much of a brogue. Was she one of the Anglo-Irish who had ruled Dublin for centuries? She was with a perfectly tailored man about Isaacâs age. They drank white coffee and muttered things that escaped the First Dep. They could talk without moving their
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